


you have eyes in every room (but you wont see me)

by kogaritsu



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: Developing Relationship, HEAVILY referenced, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Pre-Canon, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, friends to best friends to lovers to enemies, just 2nd year rei warnings, little bit of blood mentioned, request that grew legs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:01:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23832793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kogaritsu/pseuds/kogaritsu
Summary: Even when black hair lurked in his periphery like ink staining his vision, it wasn’t enough. Fingertips calloused from years of violin tracing his brachial artery never felt like enough stimulation, not when they were so gentle and pressureless. He mourned the desire that died on the bed of his tongue.
Relationships: Hasumi Keito/Sakuma Rei
Comments: 11
Kudos: 40





	you have eyes in every room (but you wont see me)

**Author's Note:**

> havent been doing great lately... you can tell which part was the request and which part was just me venting
> 
> unbetaed hope its not that bad
> 
> honorary name: hangman hands

By the time he was nine, Keito was used to funerals and the many ceremonies that came with them. Cemeteries were taught to him as places of rest, not haunted boneyards like the kids at school called them. They weren’t supposed to be scary, just sad. Places of mourning and spirituality. There was a cemetery down the road from his family’s temple, though, that made him just a little uneasy. Not because it was a cemetery, of course, but because of the people that frequented it. Perhaps they weren’t creepy people on their own, but Keito had seen plenty of the poor boy they followed after. 

Perhaps he wasn’t all that creepy either, just far too strange to ever be considered normal. He looked like a doll in a lot of ways, black hair groomed perfectly and skin flawless like tinted porcelain. In a lot of ways, he seemed older than the tombstones he sat on, ancient just like the seemingly ageless art he studied in school. His entire family seemed that way, and not just because they were primarily immigrants from a country he’d never heard about outside of fantasy books. When somebody deviates from the norm, you can tell, and Keito was positive there was something _off_ about them. Never would he ever voice that opinion, of course, because he was taught manners first and foremost. 

He’d also never confess that watching that strange family was one of his favorite hobbies, though he did feel a little weird about it from time to time. From his observation, he knew there were only four of them living nearby: a husband, wife, and their two sons. They all looked alike, but it was quite obvious that the mother came from somewhere western. Keito didn’t need to file the information in his mind, as their family would never have any business, but he couldn’t help but be nosy. What was more interesting, anyway, was how he almost never saw the entire family together, and never in the cemetery. 

The only one of them he saw regularly was the older son, whose following trailed after him like a hoard and, to get back on track, caused Keito to feel uneasy. They weren’t always there, though, and it was hard to tell if it was relief or worry that churned in his stomach when he saw the boy reading alone in the cemetery. They never talked much, but had a sense of quiet camaraderie when Keito took refuge in the mausoleum's shade to read. Maybe, once or twice, they’d talked about trading books, but Keito would be shot if he brought home books on musical study, even if they were just for fun. 

They weren’t friends, but maybe they were acquaintances in some ways, sharing books and company when the weather was nice enough to. Keito never sought out their chats, preferring silence over noise. Not this time, though.

“Are you alright?” He asked, shoes sinking in the loose dirt, “Your knee is bleeding.”

“Hm?” The boy had asked, blinking away a vacantness that didn’t suit a ten year old, “What did you say?”

“You’re bleeding.” Keito said again, squinting through the evening fog, “Doesn’t it hurt?”

Blood dribbled down the boy’s leg, staining the top of his sock. He shrugged, as if to say “not really” and glanced down uncaring at the scrape on his knee. It was by no means deep, but gravel stuck to the edges of the wound, plastered to pale skin by blood that seemed unnaturally red. It was practically inviting bacteria, plus he definitely didn’t live very close, and it was getting colder as the sun set. As if he was trying to appease Keito, the boy reached down to pick at the wound, flicking bloody pebbles to the ground and watching with disinterest when more blood rolled down his shin. To turn a blind eye would be awful, especially when Keito lived just up the road, and most definitely had a fully stocked first aid kit lying around somewhere.

“Wait here.” He wasn’t planning to stay around long enough to make sure, but he didn’t figure the boy would move much.

Running without spilling the contents of his first aid kit was hard, but Keito managed to get back to the cemetery within a few pulse pounding minutes. When he got there, though, the boy was long gone, headstone cold as ice and bloodied pebbles nowhere in sight. It was like he’d never been there at all, and Keito resented the twinge of sadness when he realized that meant there was no reason to stay. Before he left, he took the book left behind, hugging it to his chest like it’d turn to dust. He went home cold with a horrible feeling in his gut.

\---

The first time the boy, who Keito had eavesdropped on enough to learn was named Rei, came inside, he lingered outside for a long time before he even managed to find the door, knocking in a way that was almost timid. Like he’d be beaten for having the audacity to make noise. Even through the window, Keito could see how rough his condition was, nearly unrecognizable from the doll-like appearance he typically kept. Of course, he let him in without asking, pulling him by the hand to the bathroom. _’This is what a friend would do,’_ he told himself, trying very hard to pick his brain for ways to fix the mess of a child he was looking at without waking his parents up. 

It’d been a while since he’d seen Rei in the cemetery, but sometimes his family went on last minute trips back to Europe. It was worrisome, because they always came home so sick and worn down, but it was nothing like the spectacle trailing after Keito like something out of a documentary. 

Rei’s long black hair, that Keito had thought was so beautiful and well kempt, was so tangled and matted it hurt to look at. Even in the low light, he could see the shadows of forming bruises ringing around Rei’s neck, but turning on the bathroom light showed injuries he hadn’t caught at first glance; Keito felt like vomiting at the rainbow of bruises that crawled up both sets of Rei’s limbs, no doubt continuing under his clothes. In close quarters, Rei’s eyes looked dully pink, sunken into his face and squinted half shut, as if hiding from the light. His fingernails were ragged and split, with either blood or dirt caked underneath. Maybe it was both. Keito’s heart beat in his chest like a hummingbird’s wings, making his hands shake when he moved stiffly towards the bathtub.

“You.” His words were stilted and hesitant, thick like molasses in his throat, “You should get cleaned up.” 

When he turned to leave, bony fingers gripped his wrist with purpose, overgrown nails biting into his skin. Cracked, pale lips moved around soundless words, vivid irises burning with anxiety, and it occurred to Keito that alone may have been the last thing Rei wanted to be. It also, quite delayed, occurred to him that the bruising around Rei’s throat may have made it a lot harder to talk than usual. Obviously, anyone else would be better in Keito’s position, but it wouldn’t be wise to wake anyone up. So, like he was taught from birth, he sucked it up. 

“Okay…” He swallowed a lump in his throat and shuffled back, squeezing past Rei to turn on the warm water and pour soap into it as the tub filled, “I’m just- I’ll… I’m going to turn around so you can get in.” 

Rei nodded in understanding, gravitating towards the warm water as if on instinct, fingers spread out and hands held close to the faucet. Watching his body shake with full body shivers added insult to injury, and it was all Keito could do to look away. Fabric rustled when he turned his back, and he heard Rei get into the tub, giving him until the faucet turned off before turning around again. The bubbles made a good cover, and Keito stooped to put Rei’s clothes on the sink so they could go into the laundry. Then he dug in the cabinet for a clean comb, dead set on getting rid of at least a few of Rei’s hair mats. 

“Is it okay if I comb your hair?” He asked, settling on his knees next to the tub, “I’ll be really gentle.” 

Rei opened his eyes and Keito had never seen anyone so tired, but the stress lines were starting to melt away and he was starting to look a bit more like an eleven year old. After a lot of thinking, he nodded his head, wiggling to sit up a little higher. His hair dripped on Keito’s pajama pants when it made it over the lip of the bathtub, not that it really mattered that much. Looking at it made his scalp hurt, but if he didn’t comb it out, it was very clear that no one would. Chasing after Eichi for so long served him well, even if it was beyond exhausting trying to keep up with his cyclone of opinions and behaviors. Oh well, Keito liked him anyway.

“Tell me if it hurts.” He started from the bottom, separating the individual tangles one by one. Every few moments, he tugged the comb free to get rid of the hair he was yanking out. Not once, not even when he accidentally pulled hard enough to rip out an entire knot, did Rei tell him it hurt. More unnerving, he never made any sound at all, shrunken back against the edge of the bathtub like he was trying to sleep. Keito wondered if he intended to run back home after his bath. Hopefully not.

“Is the water alright? Not too hot?” He asked, just to fill the silence as he worked a few more tangles out. 

Rei opened his eyes to watch his foot bob between the bubbles, shaking his head enough to be clear but not enough to pull his hair. The water was more than warm enough, at least, tinting his shoulders red and skin warm to the touch. Keito took that as an answer to his second question, then, and went back to combing and detangling. 

“Why are you doing this for me?” A scratchy, quiet voice asked after a long silence.

Keito didn’t know what the correct answer was; why _was_ he doing so much for Rei? They were friends, sure, but Keito never helped any of his other friends take baths in the middle of the night. It was perplexing, so he just worked out a few more tangles while he pieced together words, watching Rei’s hand curl around the lip of the bathtub when he tugged. It was like he’d found his humanity, and was showing how much of a person he was by withdrawing from pain and producing his own body heat. Somehow, it only made Keito feel worse.

“Because no one else would have.” He finally answered, coaxing Rei’s head back into the water so he could wash his hair now that it was manageably tangled.

Rei started to doze off while Keito shampooed his hair, eyelids heavy and body sagging back against the tub. The new pliancy of his body gave Keito a really good look at his bruises, which served to be nauseating when he caught sight of one with twin puncture marks in the center. The bruise itself was perfectly symmetrical, blotchy in its healing process on the curve of Rei’s shoulder. Keito decided not to wonder what could have something like that, scrubbing harder at his scalp and feeling something unrecognizable when Rei sighed happily and unconsciously pushed into his hand. 

“Almost done,” He mumbled, dipping Rei’s head under the water to wash out the shampoo. Hair floated around his hands like spilled ink, more beautiful than it had ever looked before. Rei was half asleep again, so relaxed he could hardly move on his own, and Keito itched all over with a need to keep him safe. He set Rei’s clean head on the edge of the tub, hair wrung out and wrapped in a towel.

It was a horrible idea, but Keito left him like that in the tub when he darted off to get clean clothes from his brother’s room. It only took a second, and Rei was still upright when he got back, but it was a risky move with someone paralyzed by exhaustion. But he was alright, and Keito grabbed a washcloth from the sink so he could wash his own body. 

It was a slow process, but they managed, as a team to get Rei mostly clean. Keito made him dry off alone, too embarrassed to help, but he stayed right outside the door so that Rei wasn’t completely alone. He came out of the bathroom in Keito’s brother’s clothes, looking so small it was a wonder he didn’t drown in the bath. Then they went to bed, squeezing to share Keito’s futon; even if it was big enough for them both to have personal space, Rei clung like he’d be left behind when he shut his eyes.

“I won’t leave.” Keito promised against damp hair, fingers stroking over a frightening litany of scars spanning the back of Rei’s arm, “Not even if you tell me to. I promise.”

Something moved against his shoulder, and it took until Keito was hardly awake to realize Rei had fallen asleep smiling at him.

\---

“How do you write your name?” Keito slid his notebook across the dirt and into the shade of Rei’s strategically placed parasol.

Rei quirked an eyebrow, but set his sight reading aside, cracking his knuckles in preparation. He wrote his name neatly in the margin of a fresh page, then signed right below it in a messy swoop of ink. Then, for good measure, he printed his younger brother’s name, just in case Keito wanted it. Below Ritsu’s name, he drew a crescent moon, smiling proudly as he passed the notebook back. Keito squinted over the frames of his glasses to read it, committing both names to memory, just in case he needed to pass along the correct characters in the future. Glancing at the pinpricks of broken blood vessels under Rei’s chin, he was fairly certain he might.

“Like ‘zero’, huh?” He dog-eared the page, then flipped back to the one he was drawing on, determined to finish his sketch of the way the sunlight bounced off the tombstone they were hiding behind, “Your signature’s ugly, by the way. It looks like a prescription or something.”

Rei laughed, head tipping back and hair sticking to the morning dew. His voice carried through the empty graveyard, so loud it could have woken the dead. Keito was grateful they were hiding for once, content that Rei’s followers weren’t around to annoy him. They were always in the way when he wanted to draw, always too loud when he wanted to focus. He couldn’t imagine dealing with them everywhere he went, but Rei could surely take care of himself in that capacity. Even if he couldn’t, he wasn’t very receptive to being doted on, betraying everything Keito had learned from being Eichi’s friend.

“And yours isn’t? Signatures are supposed to be recognizable, not pretty, y’know.” Rei had a point, but Keito wasn’t about to let him win.

“Whatever. You should still make it less messy.” He hid his smile behind his notebook, having lost the will to draw as soon as Rei captured his attention.

\---

Keito squinted at his sheet music, fingers sweaty where they gripped the strings of his grandfather’s shamisen. His eyes wandered to the copy of ‘The Shamisen: Tradition and Diversity’ Rei had given him, wondering if it was worth the teasing to open it up and check his finger placement again. Rei watched from under the windowsill, lips stained purple from the grape popsicle he was eating to stop himself from backseat playing. His eyes were half shut, watching like a lazy lion under a tree; Keito could feel his gaze on the side of his head, picking out his subtle mistakes and storing them for later. Rei was calculated that way, always watching for a place to get a leg up. 

“Your wrist is misaligned.” He spoke up at last, crawling over to hook his chin over Keito’s shoulder, popsicle stick discarded along the way. His hands were careful and slow when he adjusted Keito’s hands himself, talking all the way. The positioning he demonstrated _was_ more comfortable, and extended his range of motion considerably.

“Mmm…” Keito strummed again, half satisfied by the note he produced, and even more with the hum of appreciation Rei muffled into the back of his shirt, “Thanks.”

Rei didn’t respond, lying against his back like a leech for heat, humming along to the song Keito plucked out for practice. Maybe, just maybe, Keito was starting to appreciate the weight. Not that he’d have the guts to tell another living soul. But it was a nice weight on his back, one that visited in his dreams sometimes. 

\---

“You know,” Rei had said one day while watching Keito draw, “You could pick much better friends.” 

Keito didn’t look up from the portrait he was sketching, just jabbed at Rei’s ribs with his left elbow. Not enough, of course, to lose the focus it took to capture the noble beauty he was replicating from memory. This one wouldn’t look nice if colored, but Keito wasn’t planning on coloring with Rei draped all over him anyways. Black and white was just as well loved, he thought. 

“I’m serious.” Keito blamed the way he flushed against Rei’s cold skin on the fact that he was fourteen, and that was it.

“So what? Aren’t you happy we’re friends?” His pen flicked with his signature at the bottom of the page.

Rei didn’t answer, eyelashes tickling the side of Keito’s face and fingers tightening and loosening on the thin fabric of his tee shirt. Bugs chirped outside the window, crying for attention and receiving none; poetic as it was, Keito couldn’t help but wish for another sound. Even when black hair lurked in his periphery like ink staining his vision, it wasn’t enough. Fingertips calloused from years of violin tracing his brachial artery never felt like enough stimulation, not when they were so gentle and pressureless. He mourned the desire that died on the bed of his tongue.

“Are you giving him this one?” Rei finally asked, breath warm next to his ear, and Keito could almost hear the way his tongue lashed against the back of his teeth. How unpleasant Rei could be when he didn’t care to feign politeness.

“Mmmm,” Keito pushed off the floor, missing the weight against his back as soon as it was gone. The portrait burned brilliantly when the corner met the wick of one of his many candles, reduced to nothing but ash at the bottom of his trash can, “Maybe next time.”

\---

Keito, regrettably so, loved to watch Rei play his violin. His talent was a part of it, of course, but so was the serene expression that crossed his face when he played capriccios he’d long memorized. So was the way he didn’t seem as tired when he swayed and stepped to the rhythm he was playing. And the way Keito’s heart pounded so loud he could hardly think when Rei hummed along, teeth sticking out when he smiled. But, for the sake of dignity, Rei’s talent was the one and only reason Keito bore the frightening presence of Sakumas Amira and Eito somewhat often. 

Rei never really let them get close enough to bother Keito, using a comical amount of caution to to keep them away. But Keito was observant when he tried, and the Sakuma household was disturbing in more than a few ways. Once, when Rei was being scolded for something Keito couldn’t understand, he wandered the house looking for something to occupy his mind until they were done. He found lots of interesting things, but the most interesting was an overgrown garden hidden in the house’s shade. It was something out of storybooks, a gathering place for nefarious faeries to make their deals; vacant statues stared at him as if they could scrutinize. They were beautiful. Keito hated them.

Rei found him, as always did, and sat by him on the garden bench, “Fucked up, making me come all the way outside to see you.”

“You never told me you had a garden,” Keito shot back, “It’s the only pretty thing about your house.”

“Calling it a garden implies that anything could grow here.” Rei kicked a rock, disturbing the out of place vines and weeds that’d overtaken the plot.

“Still pretty. You should have shown me.” Rei laughed at that, leaving the bench to disturb the garden some more.

“I always hated these fuckin’ things.” He gestured to one of the many statues, then got the brilliant idea to shove it off its pedestal.

Rei broke the first one, stomping on it with his house shoes until he got bored and moved on to the next. Keito joined the fun and broke the fourth, shoving it off the pedestal and finding the resounding _crash_ more satisfying than the whistle of an arrow to a target. He picked up a piece, slashing his palm to ribbons, and threw it down, laughing madly when it was obliterated against the infertile dirt. If he’d looked up at the house, he’d see Rei’s younger brother watching from the window, eyes as wide and empty as Rei’s. He didn’t, though, helping Rei smash the biggest statue and marveling at the grin that its demise offered. 

Blood dripped down Keito’s fingers and onto the broken statues, staining their eradicated beauty with a piece of him. Whatever had gotten into him to act so poorly was bled out of the cut on his hand. It was stupid now that he was in his right mind, to have destroyed so much property and hurt himself in the process. He couldn’t parade back through the house with a bleeding hand, and he couldn't go home with an open wound. Rei was more present than he, it seemed, as he took Keito’s hand in his to assess the damage. 

“Look at that!” His fingers skirted the cut, too dirty to risk touching. “Now Keito-kun’s the irresponsible one,” Rei giggled, instead deciding to lick the blood off Keito’s hand like it was a normal and sane solution. Grousing in the back of his mind, Keito kind of wished it was. 

\---

“Don’t you have a flight in the morning?” Keito stood on the bottom step of the Sakuma wine cellar, sock catching on a loose nail.

“Sure do,” Rei couldn’t see Keito from where he was, keeping his hands steady as he took out a bottle of aged Bordeaux, “What’s it to you, bouzu?”

Keito wrinkled his nose, dismounting the steps and following the echo of Rei’s voice around the first row of wine. The lights were dim like in a movie, backlighting dust particles and applying what Eichi might call a romantic atmosphere. After watching Rei use his teeth to open the seal on the wine he was holding, Keito decided that, if anything, he was living out a horror movie. Red eyes positively shined when the Bordeaux was held out, obviously with the intention of Keito carrying it while Rei retrieved more. Bold of him to decide that Keito would contribute to the delinquency of a minor.

“I just wonder if drinking is a good idea.” He took the extended bottle regardless, holding it to his chest like he would any other single item that outweighed his net worth, “I should expect this from you, though. You’re the stupidest smart person I’ve met.”

“Ouch, Hasumi-kun! So mean!” Rei rose to his full height and then some, balancing on his tiptoes to peer into the top shelf.

With a hearty roll of his eyes, Keito stayed put, cradling the wine he was given like he assumed a baby was meant to be held. It didn’t fuss or squirm, which made the ordeal significantly easier and eliminated unnecessary stress. Rei brought out another bottle, this one even dustier. The wine inside, though, was a shade of red Keito didn’t know the human eye could perceive. Rei opened the seal on that one with his teeth as well, going another few steps forward to drink a heavy pull from it once it was open. It stuck to the insides of his lips, making him look more like a piece of fine art than a living, breathing person. Keito envied the artisan that managed to capture such prestige.

“Y’know,” Rei took yet another long sip from his bottle, eyes appearing slitted like those of a predator in the low light, “I could totally kill ya down here. Betcha no one would even notice ‘til tomorrow.” 

Keito ignored him, looking over his shoulder to make sure the cellar door was still shut tight, “Now really isn’t the time for you to misbehave, is it? You have guests.” He didn’t have to vocalize the ‘more than usual’ that came after ‘misbehave,’ Rei knew what he meant.

“Yeah, yeah,” Rei licked his lips, red like the wine, red like his eyes, “You’re not scared of me… You never have been, huh?”

“It’s not like there’s anything to be afraid of.” Keito inched closer, drawn in like a shark to bloodied water, “Not when it’s you.”

Rei’s eyes, those terrible, bloody eyes, followed the movement of every word, tongue trapped between his incisors. A warm flush overtook his complexion, barely noticeable in the dim lighting, and Keito huffed a quiet laugh, pleased to know that no delinquency could banish Rei’s soft spot for him. Footsteps made the floor above them creak, and Keito briefly looked away from Rei to try in vain to ensure (for what felt like the thousandth time) that the cellar door was still shut. It wouldn’t do well to be caught making eyes in the dark, would it? One of them had to care about appearances. When he gave his attention back to Rei, however, he was much closer, fingers seeking the belt loops of Keito’s jeans. 

“You’re incorrigible, I clearly didn’t discipline you enough as a child.” Even as he said it, he smoothed hair out of Rei’s eyes on his way to planting his hands on his shoulders.

“Yeah?” Rei reeked of aged wine and smoke, fingertips like burning ice through Keito’s shirt as he traced the subtle dip of his waist.

“Yeah.” Keito pushed uselessly on his shoulders, exerting no strength to make headway. When Rei grinned, it was with wicked intent, tightening something in the pit of his stomach.

Keito had tasted wine a few times. Not much of it, of course, just scattered mouthfuls of old white wine when staying overnight with Eichi in middle school. That taste, a fairly distant memory that made his taste buds pucker with displeasure, didn’t even come close to the taste of Rei’s tongue when it invaded his mouth. Properly aged wine, it appeared, tasted richer than whatever swill Eichi had produced from God only knows where. And Rei made it seem like ambrosia, tongue pressing into Keito’s mouth as if he was living out his last moments on Earth. And fuck, with the way things were going, maybe he was. Keito would have been cruel to deprive him of a good time if it were his last night on Earth, and though he enjoyed being cruel from time to time, there was no resisting this. The worst part, though, was that he didn’t want to resist, not even to be coy.

Rei licked the roof of his mouth, tongue sharp and harsh when it dragged against the backs of Keito’s teeth, as if it sought something to taste. Something shattered upstairs, and Keito pulled back to speak, only for Rei to follow his retreating mouth and back him even harder against the shelf. It was uncomfortable, but the way that Rei held onto him was frenzied, fingernails tearing at his sides through his shirt and mouth sidetracking to kiss the line of Keito’s jaw too. Kissing his jaw led downstream, and Keito was beginning to feel like a mistake was being made. He didn’t want to push off, didn’t want to let go of Rei’s shoulders long enough to run away, didn’t want to pretend he hated when Rei gave chase.

“Be good.” He warned, and meant it for once, fingers curled in the fabric of Rei’s jacket as if he had the drive, power, or desire to control him.

“Mhmm.” Rei hummed, and raked his teeth over Keito’s pulse point, tongue laving over the skin like he was starving. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that he was.

\---

Morning light crept through the drawn curtains of the livehouse Deadmanz had performed in, reminding Keito that he and Rei had long overstayed their welcome. Koga had run home hours ago, complaining that his mothers never fed his dog properly, so he had to hurry before they all went to be. Rei was still talking, though, drinking like a fish between words as if it’d make the pain stop, and Keito couldn’t even think of a good reason to stop him. It was all starting to feel pretty hopeless to him too, and he wasn’t even on the frontlines of the war Rei was serving. The elephant in the room sat proud on the couch between them, making the centimeters separating their legs feel like an ocean.

“It pissed me off ‘cause,” Rei sniffed, muscles visibly tense and voice unwavering, “‘Cause I wanted to matter that much.”

“To me?” Keito asked, torn between giving him space and offering support.

Rei gave an unkind huff of laughter, harsh like the crack of a bull whip, and dug his elbow into Keito’s side, “To anyone.”

“Well.” Keito swallowed around nothing, flinching when Rei dug a lighter out of his pants pocket, “Of course you matter to me. You’ve always mattered to me.”

Clearly his tone wasn’t convincing enough. And, in a very Rei fashion, that conversation was shoved aside to serve as an open wound to salt later. Keito felt it in the back of his throat when Rei lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply and letting his shoulders sag with his exhale. Idols weren’t supposed to be good at drinking and smoking, and yet it was Rei’s second nature, so regular that it was instinctive. It was nauseating, how terribly he was suffering, and Keito never bothered to think about what was wrong. Fire licked up Keito’s sternum, burning as hot as the tip of Rei’s cigarette. 

“What’s wrong,” Keito licked his lips, feeling like he was making a grave mistake, “Sakuma-san?”

“What isn’t wrong,” Secondhand smoke curled around his neck like a noose, “Bouzu?” The name ground into Keito’s bones like a mortar and pestle pushing pressure and friction until they split like wood from an axe. 

“I can’t even start to make it better until you tell me what.” Keito regretted saying it as soon as he did, but when his mouth opened, he couldn’t stop, “So start talking.”

Rei stared at him, lips pursed like he was trying not to laugh. His cigarette spun a spider web of wispy smoke between them, obscuring Keito’s view until he fanned the smoke away with his hand. One last drag, and Rei seemed prepared to bare his emotional wounds, and Keito felt sick over how much he didn’t want to hear.

“Fine. I wanna say ‘Fuck, I miss being happy’,” The livehouse felt so eerily quiet as Keito hunted for background noise, anything to drown out how _empty_ every word felt, “But I don’t remember a single time I didn’t feel like this.”

“Obviously, I wasn’t always like this… Everyone’s been happy, but God I can’t remember a single time I didn’t wish you would have just let me starve to death. Like my brain blocked it all out so that there’s nothin’ left to miss.” Rei’s eyes were alight like the glowing tip of the cigarette that bobbed between his fingers, but they were the only sign of life Keito could find. Every other part of him was as still and marbled as the remnants of statues they’d smashed in the garden. The rough edge of his voice was familiar, but it slipped out of place on certain consonants, exposing his raw vocal chords to the congested air. “Fucked up, huh, how sometimes the only way the brain can protect itself from the bad is to get rid of all the good?”

There was a right answer to that question, but Keito was never great at making Rei happy, “Fucked up how such a genius has to bear such burdens, I think.”

He answered wrong, of _course_ he answered wrong. He could see it in the glassy red of Rei’s eyes, could feel it in the shift of tension in the smoky air. It was so heavy, not just on him but on Rei too, judging by the defeated sag of his shoulders. Said defeated sag didn’t last long, thankfully. Signs of weakness never did when it came to Rei.

“Genius? ‘M hardly even a fuckin’ husk anymore.” Like the barrel of a gun, his facade slipped back into place, laughing bitterly as he took a long drag from his cigarette, grating on Keito’s nerves like nails on a chalkboard. 

Rei practically spit the smoke at him this time, snubbing out his cigarette on the bottom of his boot as if it wasn’t only partially burnt up. A half-sarcastic comment on how smoking in a live house was definitely against some rules, and flicking the smoldering butt aside wasn’t any better, died before it reached Keito’s tongue. For a moment, one just like many others, he saw past the facade of delinquency and into Rei’s cesspool of untapped emotion and unaddressed anxieties. The smoke smelled sour in the air and tasted even worse when he kissed him instead of thinking up an answer. Underneath it, Rei’s mouth tasted an awful mix of alcohol and stale tobacco; kissing Rei was like flirting with the line between their social standings and it was goddamn addicting. 

Fingernails dug into his sides, clinging like nothing else would keep Keito from getting away and never coming back to him. When they separated, Rei gasped for air like he was drowning, chest heaving and mouth hanging open. Their breaths intermingled, and Keito couldn’t help but notice that Rei’s reeked of dying fire, like an abandoned pyre. When he went in for more, Rei, for once, denied him in favor of letting his lungs catch up. Keito watched, with a heart so heavy he could hardly bear it, as a single sweep of long black eyelashes smothered the flames of rage toward seventeen years spent pushing back against a crushing force engineered to break. He pretended not to see the tears that cut into the figurative ash staining Rei’s face.

Keito didn’t think when he pulled Rei back in, holding his face still to pry his teeth apart and lick away the foul taste of alcohol. At first, Rei melted into it, as if he didn’t realize that Keito wasn’t kissing him out of love or desire or want. He had to know, had to be able to feel that it didn’t mean a single thing. But he kissed Keito back like there was nothing else he knew how to do, clinging to his shirt like it could hold him in place; he gasped against his mouth, chest heaving with aborted breaths. Only when he pulled back did Keito try to hold on, fingers slipping on silky hair and smooth fabric.

“I’m going.” Rei was mean when he shoved him away, clothes out of place and hair in cynical knots that made Keito’s scalp ache.

“You say that like you’re walking to your grave.” Keito adjusted his glasses, straightened his clothes, unsure of what the right move was.

“Mourn me, then.” Rei got up, boots heavy as he moved towards the door, steps a little off center but otherwise unaffected, “‘Cause I’d rather be fuckin’ dead than play your pawn. Chess isn’t your forte, _Bouzu_.”

“Sakuma-san…” Keito followed, flinching at how Rei didn’t even care to respond until the door was flung open. He tried to say something else, but found no words would convey his feelings.

“Lecture someone that cares.” Rei offered only one more look over his shoulder, full of the same hatred he wore when he looked at Eichi, and it hurt worse than anything Keito had seen before, “I’m sick of hearing you.”

He turned to leave again, and Keito grabbed his wrist, holding him in place long enough to plead without saying the words, begging like a child for him not to go. It was only for a second, but he found a little bit of understanding in the adults that mindlessly followed after Rei for years, desperate for his approval and attention. To be reduced to zero in his presence when he was once the exception was a hollow existence, and Keito could barely stand to watch contempt twist in Rei’s expression. He was always a handful, Keito made sure to tell him that as many times as possible when they were growing up, but this was different. The feeling faded after a moment, like the smoke that still hung in the stale live house air. But Keito felt the loss, just as he felt it every time he saw Rei.

Gone was the stubborn face of a sullen child wanting to stay up all day and night to learn shogi and teach Keito the piano. Gone were the ligatures of familial rituals that Rei hated to take part in so very much. Gone was the soft smile that Keito daydreamed about perfecting in his sketchbook, replaced by malicious teeth bared like a cornered animal to a huntsman. When, Keito wondered, had he become a cog in the very machine he spent so many sleepless nights hiding Rei from? He asked himself, fingers tight as a vice around Rei’s arm, but he knew better than anyone else, and the guilt wasn’t nearly as heavy as he expected.

He let go of Rei, then, skin warming in the light of the rising sun. In the time it took Keito to check his watch, Rei had managed to restore his illusion of unbothered genius, and more than anything, it hurt to not be able to recognize his emotions anymore. To have lost the ability to read him like the books they traded in the cemetery felt like a greater loss than the cold hands that used to feel like home on his skin. It was a long time coming, their childhood friendship was worn down to bones and Keito had felt it decaying long before its demise. But to look at Rei and find none of the soft edges he’d mapped as they grew up together, it was like coming home to an empty house. Turning away from him to walk home hurt so much worse than the snap of a broken promise.

**Author's Note:**

> socials are miyujuns come talk to me


End file.
